Scattered Petals
by Mattiewilda
Summary: Flowers, it seemed, had always played a key role in the life of George Feeny.


_**Yes, it's me again with a new one-shot. (Thanks for the idea/request, **livelearnlovesing**!) Now, this was supposed to be a short story centered around a couple of events in the life of Mr. Feeny, but as with most of my stories it took on a life of it's own and went in a direction I hadn't originally planned. It turned into almost a character study of sorts. Mr. Feeny can be a difficult character to pin down and find his voice, but I hope I've done him justice.**_

_**This story has A LOT of flashbacks and normally I would put those in italics, but given the length of some of them that would kill most people's eyes. So all of the flashbacks will be center aligned. Hopefully it will make it easier to read. If not let me know and I can edit and try to figure out something else.**_

_**(And since it's me, I did include a tiny element of Where You Least Expect It in this, but you don't need to be familiar with it to understand this and there are no spoilers for that story. I simply saw a chance for character interaction I couldn't pass up.) **_

* * *

><p>It was a warm day for this time of year. The autumnal chill hadn't yet taken over and his yard, while slowly giving way to upcoming change of seasons, was still full of life and color. George Feeny had other things he should be doing this morning, a lot of other things, but he found himself out here in his favorite chair. He had brought a book with him, but it was long forgotten. Instead he was taking everything in- the sights, the smells...everything. He wouldn't have this opportunity much longer. Memories were hitting him left and right lately. Each plant, flower, even the blades of grass...every rose….they all had a story.<p>

Flowers, it seemed, had always played a key role in the life of George Feeny.

He knew they were pretty, smelled nice, and that most women loved receiving them. He remembered how his excited his mother would get every time his father would surprise her with her beloved orchids. Always a curious child, he asked once why she loved them and her answer was, "_Because they have the ability to transform even the most desolate scene into one of great beauty_." George was too young to understand and instead wondered if she secretly found her life so desolate only flowers could cheer her. For about a month after that comment he drew her pictures of flowers daily, hoping to keep her happy. Art had never been his forte- even as a child he preferred books- but his mother fawned over each and every scribbled blossom as though they were priceless works that deserved to line the walls of The Louvre.

When he was old enough to date, his mother stressed the importance of never showing up empty-handed: for the first date especially. Even if all he could afford was a single flower it would be enough to make the young lady feel special. She even took it upon herself to make the corsages he presented to his dates for school dances. When he left home for college the local florist became his guide, but he found their knowledge couldn't touch that of mother's.

He met Lillian while she was working in a flower shop.

George would never forget the rainy March afternoon he met the first love of his life. He was a couple years out of college and had gone there to, ironically, buy flowers for another woman he had been seeing for a short while. His understanding of flowers still wasn't great. He bought them based on look and smell. There was no thought given to the hidden meanings from Victorian times based on type and color. This did backfire on him on one particular occasion. After purchasing a few red roses for a girl he had been seeing for barely two months she was talking about love, their futures, and marriage. When asked where she had gotten the idea that they were ready for that kind of commitment, she pointed out the red roses as being a symbol of true love. After that incident he vowed to always ask the opinion of the florist to make sure he wouldn't be sending any mixed signals.

/

/

/

"Is there anything I can help you with today, sir?"

George jumped at the voice. He hadn't heard anyone approach. He spun around and found himself in front of a pretty girl. Well, maybe not a girl, but she was a young woman and a quite pretty one at that. Her nametag read Lillian and her dark blonde hair was pulled up in what had probably been a meticulous bun at the start of her shift, but now a few stubborn tendrils seemed determined to escape this late afternoon. Her brown eyes were kind and curious as she peered at him from over her glasses.

"Well?"

Right, she had asked him a question. "I'm sorry, what did you ask?"

"I asked if there was anything I could help you with. You seem a bit confused."

He gave her a sheepish smile. "Yes, well, you see flowers are not my area of expertise and I am having a great deal of difficulty selecting a few for my date this evening." George cringed as he spoke. He had a tendency to ramble and drag out his thoughts when he was nervous and right now he felt like reciting the Declaration of Independence.

If Lillian noticed his nerves she said nothing. "Tell me about her. How long have you been going together?"

"Jacqueline and I have been seeing each other for a little more than a month. This is our fourth date. She's a bank teller- very nice, professional."

"Is it serious?"

"I'm not sure. I suppose it has the potential to be, yes." And it did. Jacqueline was a very sweet, extremely intelligent woman with whom he enjoyed spending time. There was, however, no great spark or zing. He supposed that could come in time.

"Would you like it to be?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand the question."

"Would you like your relationship with this Jacqueline to become serious?"

Right now all George wanted was to ask the girl in front of him for her number. It was very unlike him. Many of his friends played the field so to speak and had more than one companion at a time and encouraged him to do the same, but it never felt right. He had always been a one woman man. "I'm still weighing the pros and cons of such a scenario."

She stared at him for a moment. "You're a scientist, right? Or at the very least you spend a lot of your time in a lab."

"No, no I'm a teacher. I teach middle school. Why did you think I was a scientist?"

Lillian shook her head. "Never mind, forget I said anything. Teaching is a very noble calling."

He was intrigued. "No, really, what is it about me that screamed scientist?"

"You have a very deliberate use of speech. It's very clear you think about everything before you say it and your mention of weighing the pros and cons- I have a couple of regular customers who spend their days in a lab and they are just as analytical. It sounded like something they would say."

She noticed the way he talked? "Oh, no, I'm afraid if you put me in a chemistry lab you would need to have the fire department on standby. My father bought me a chemistry set when I was a boy and I'm afraid our shed did not survive my first experiment." He was more than a little delighted that she laughed at the anecdote. "I was an education major with an emphasis on English."

"That must be it then. Okay, now that we've sufficiently veered off topic, let's get back to Jacqueline."

"Who?"

"Your date?"

"Yes, right, Jacqueline."

They spent the next several minutes going over various flowers. George listened as Lillian talked about the meaning of each type of flower, the color, even mentioning that the particular number of blooms given could be seen as a message to the recipient. She was more knowledgeable than any other florist he'd ever encountered. He never knew flowers held such history or could be so fascinating. Then again, he suspected he'd find any topic Lillian chose to discuss fascinating. Her voice had an almost musical quality and he had to force himself to pay attention to her words and not just how they sounded. He randomly selected a few flowers from a basket. "How about these? They are quite pretty."

Lillian chuckled. "Yes, they are pretty, but I'm afraid orange blossoms could send the wrong message to Jacqueline."

"Oh?"

"Orange trees are rare in that they are one of the few that blooms and produces fruit simultaneously. Therefore they are seen as very fertile plants. A man who gathers orange blossoms is a man seeking a wife and family."

George unceremoniously dropped the flowers back into the bucket. "That is not the message I'm ready to send…at least not on the fourth date."

"I suspected as much." She led him over to another section of the store. "Here, let me show you a few I think will be suitable to your situation."

/

/

/

In the end, George purchased a small bouquet of pink and yellow roses with a few stems of alstroemeria- or rather, Peruvian lilies. Later that evening during their date he and Jacqueline discussed the future of their relationship. It was a great relief when it turned out he wasn't the only one who hadn't exactly been feeling a spark despite them seeming so perfectly matched on paper. In fact she had also met someone else and she was anxious to see if it would go anywhere and hoped he would understand. They finished their dinner and parted amicably. There were no hard feelings. They would even go on to attend each other's weddings and in fact still exchanged Christmas cards to this day.

He smiled to himself when he thought about what happened after the date.

/

/

/

George ran down the street, hoping to reach the flower shop before it closed. He got to the store just as Lillian was about to lock up for the night. "Wait, please, wait a moment."

She looked up, startled. "I'm afraid we're clo…oh, hello. Is everything all right?" She looked at the bouquet of flowers in his hand, the same flowers he had purchased earlier. "Did I steer you wrong? Did Jacqueline not like the flowers?"

"No…I mean, yes, she thought they were very nice, but under the circumstances decided not to keep them."

"What circumstances would those be?"

"We decided to go our separate ways."

"I'm sorry," Lillian said sincerely.

"No, it's okay. It was an amicable parting. It turns out we're not quite the match we anticipated."

"I figured."

He frowned, confused by her response. "I beg your pardon?"

"You chose pink and yellow roses and alstroemeria. The only way that bouquet could've screamed friendship any more would be if you included a little sign that stated '_You're a good friend and I appreciate you._' And also when I asked you to describe her you said she was professional. That was not the description a smitten man would give."

"Oh."

"Come in," she said, gesturing for him to follow her inside. "It's not typical, but I can give you a refund before I close down the till."

He did what she said and wandered around the shop while she went through various closing procedures. The lighting was dim and the flowers that surrounded him seemed somehow more fragrant than they had earlier. "So, Lillian, what are…"

"How did you know my name?"

George motioned to the nametag on her apron. "You're wearing a nametag."

"Right. I forget about that sometimes. You were saying?"

"I was wondering what your favorite flower is. You are surrounded by so many different kinds I suppose it would be difficult to choose."

"I love roses. I know it's traditional and trite and you'd think I'd find a more interesting flower, but a rose can say so much." Lillian looked down with a smile. "I guess I'm just a romantic at heart. My dream is to have a home with a large yard where I can plant rose bushes and any other flower I wish."

"That's a lovely dream."

"Thank you. Um…I'll just go get your refund."

George gravitated to the fridge that contained roses and tried to remember everything she had told him about the various colors. He set his bouquet in one of the less full buckets and went about making another selection. Once satisfied with his choice, he walked to the counter.

Lillian slid the money towards him. "Here you go."

"Actually, I'd rather not have a refund...more of an exchange instead."

"What do you mean?"

He pulled the bouquet from behind his back, revealing lavender and peach roses. "I'd rather have a date with you."

"Are you exchanging flowers or girls?"

"What?"

"You came in here earlier asking for help buying flowers for another woman and now you're here wanting to exchange the flowers and asking for a date with a different woman. That doesn't strike you as odd? How do I know you were being truthful about it not working out with Jacqueline? I refuse to be the other woman."

"That wasn't what I…"

"Maybe you should leave. Take whatever bouquet you'd like…hell, take them both. You may get lucky and run into two different women on the way home." She stalked towards the door to let him out.

How had this gone downhill? "Lillian, wait."

"What?"

"I'll give you Jacqueline's number if you want to call her. She'll tell you we are finished and choosing to remain friends. We like each other but there was no romantic spark so we decided not to prolong things unnecessarily."

"What's her number?"

"Excuse me?"

"There's paper and a pen on the counter. Write down her number."

George wrote out the number and watched, somewhat in awe, as Lillian actually called Jacqueline to clarify things. She certainly had- as his father would've said- a lot of gumption. Several minutes later she hung up the phone wearing an apologetic look on her face.

"I'm sorry, George. I recently ended a relationship after discovering my fiancé had been seeing another woman for months. I should've taken you at your word…and the bouquet you chose for her."

"No, I'm sorry. Perhaps I should've been clearer or at the very least waited until tomorrow."

"I don't work tomorrow so that would've been a bad idea."

"Oh."

"That does mean, however, that I am free for a date. Assuming someone asks me, that is."

"Would you like to go out with me tomorrow night?"

"I'd love to."

He held the roses out to her. "Fantastic."

/

/

/

From that day on they were inseparable, choosing to spend every available moment together. If he thought she'd have said yes, George would've proposed on their second date. After her previous relationship however, he wanted Lillian to feel loved. He wanted to sweep her off of her feet with romantic gestures. It was surreal. He was so cautious with everything he did, but Lillian made him want to be spontaneous, to think outside of the box. He found that coloring outside the lines could be rather fun. He even called in sick to work on occasion just so they could have an entire three day weekend together.

As they neared their one year anniversary he felt confident enough to propose. But George didn't just want to give her a ring. He wanted to give her everything her heart desired all at once. Lillian deserved to want for nothing. He began searching for houses, hoping to find the perfect home and yard of her dreams. He looked around the yard where he now sat, the day they got engaged coming back to him instantly.

/

/

/

"Oh, George, this is beautiful. " Lillian walked around the backyard, taking it all in.

He hung back, choosing instead to stand in the doorway and observe her. "You really think so?"

"It's perfect. Why are your friends selling it?"

He had invited her here under the guise of watching the house for a friend. He made up a lie about needing to water the houseplants and give them sun and said she needed to come along so he didn't kill anything. "I have a confession to make."

She ran her hand along the short white fence. "Oh?"

"This house doesn't belong to my friend and we don't have to water any plants."

"So, what is this? You decided to take up breaking and entering and wanted to bring me along for the ride?"

"No, you see, this house is for sale and I wanted you to come here with me to see it."

"Why?"

He took a few steps into the yard. "I've spent months looking for your dream home, the one you stay up late describing to me."

"You have?"

"This is the closest I could find…with my budget anyway. If I had the money I would build your dream by hand."

"Please don't," she said, getting teary, "you are terrible at construction. We had to call my brother-in-law to build that new bookcase you got after you nailed a shelf to your shirt."

He smiled. "Yes, well, at the very least I would buy you a bigger home."

"I don't need a big home or a lot of money. You are all I need."

George took her hands and led her over to a bench. "Do you remember the day we met?"

"Of course I do." She leaned forward for a kiss. "That day changed my life."

"For me, too. I remember you telling me about different flowers and the meanings behind them." He knelt down on the ground and pulled out a bouquet he had set under the bench.

"Orange blossoms," Lillian gasped, bringing her hands to rest over her heart.

"You told me that a man with orange blossoms is a man seeking a wife and family." George reached into his shirt pocket, revealing a ring. "I am merely a man before you with a ring and some flowers, but I don't want merely any wife, Lillian, I want you. I want to wake up with you and I want you to be the last person I see before going to sleep at night. I want to fill this house with children and later, when we're old and gray we can sit out here and enjoy our retirement- you tending to your garden and I will read…while occasionally sneaking glimpses of you to remind myself how fortunate I am."

She couldn't stop her tears even if she wanted to. "Oh, George."

"Will you be my wife, my family?"

"Of course I will!"

/

/

/

They were married later that summer. Partly because, being a teacher, that was his best time for a honeymoon, and also because they saw no need in waiting. They loved each other, they had their home, and they were ready to begin their lives together.

He and Lillian built a very nice life for themselves. During the week he taught school and she continued her work in the flower shop, but they spent their evenings and weekends together. Not that they didn't have their own individual hobbies, but they found that their time was more pleasurable when spent in each other's company. They bought a little cottage in the Poconos and would escape there often for long weekends. She had always wanted to learn to ski and he always intended to teach her, but they never seemed to find their way to the slopes. He held no regrets about that.

The one thing that seemed to elude them was what they wanted the most- children. They doted on the children of her sister and those of their friends, but their little nest remained empty. After several years of marriage there was still no pitter patter of little feet to greet him when he came home from work, no one to tuck into bed with a story each night, and no doctor could tell them why. They simply said relax, wait, and have fun trying. But no amount of relaxing, waiting, and trying seemed to help. Lillian did her best to maintain a brave face, but George knew her heart broke every time a friend or relative would announce their happy news or she would see a new mother pushing a carriage through the park. She broke down after one particularly bad day- filling a large flower order for a baby shower- and told him she would understand if he wanted to leave her for someone who could give him a family.

/

/

/

"Lillian, no!"

"Yes, I told you I would understand. You've already given me everything and deserve to be with someone who can do the same for you." She collapsed onto the bed and buried her face in his pillow. "Just go, go find someone who can give you a family. I am giving you a free pass, a get out of jail free card, so to speak."

He wanted to shake her for how foolish she was being right now. "Is that really the way you think I look at you, as someone who is just a conduit for children? You think you can be so easily replaced in my life that I can go find some random woman and have even a tenth of what we share? If that is really all you think of me then shame on you. I would think after our years together you would give me more credit than that."

"You deserve a family."

George lay down beside her. "I already have one."

"But..."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "If you can't have children then _we_ can't have children. Even if it never happens for us we will still be okay. You are all the family I need and if, in the end, all we ever have is each other we've already got the rest of the world beat because we would still have everything."

Lillian snuggled as close as she could get to her husband and rested her head on his chest. "I love you, George."

He kissed the top of her head. "And I love you, no matter what."

/

/

/

And then one morning Lillian complained about not feeling well. He thought nothing of it at first. After all, he worked with children and was always around various bugs and germs and more often than not she would be the one who got sick instead of him. She used to jokingly refer to him as the carrier. When a few days turned into a week and she still wasn't feeling any better he suggested she go to the doctor. He would've gone with her, but a new school year had just begun and she insisted she was all right to drive.

George had been in the middle of teaching a class when he got the call.

/

/

/

"I don't understand, Bob," he said as the principal lead him to his office, "can't you just take a message and tell them I'll call them back during lunch? This is a poor example to set for my students."

"George," the principal said gently, "you need to take the call."

"Is it Lillian? She knows not to call during the school day unless it's an emerg…" He took the phone from Bob and thought nothing of sitting in his boss's chair. "Hello, Lillian?" He was quiet, listening to the person on the other end of the call. "Yes, this is George Feeny. What? What are you talking about? What accident? Is my wife okay?"

/

/

/

He learned Lillian had passed when he reached the hospital. She had been killed upon impact, but they hadn't wanted to tell him over the phone. Apparently an inebriated driver had run a red light and slammed into their car in the process. The damage was on the driver's side and she never stood a chance. He tried to find solace in the fact that it was instant, Lillian hadn't suffered, but all he knew was that his wife was gone.

George didn't think anything could make this more painful, yet he was wrong.

/

/

/

"George, do you have anyone who can stay with you tonight," Bob asked. He had driven his friend to the hospital and waited with him all day. He'd even offered to positively identify Lillian's body for the coroner so George didn't have to see her like that, but he insisted.

"I don't need anyone to stay with me," he said in an almost robotic tone.

"I really don't think you should be alone right now."

"I said I'll be fine!" He sighed and ran his hands over his face- pinching his cheek in the process. If this was just a bad dream, surely that would wake him, wouldn't it? "I'm sorry, I just-I need to be alone. Drive me home. That will be enough." It had been a beautiful morning so he walked to work. It wasn't far and this way Lillian would have the car to…well, he supposed that didn't matter anymore.

"I'll go pull the car around and meet you out front in a few minutes, okay?" He placed his hand on George's shoulder when he didn't respond. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes, go get the car."

"All right."

George meandered down the halls of the hospital, not in any rush to get home. There was nothing there waiting for him anymore. He had been lost in thought when he plowed into another person, sending them both to the ground. "I'm so sorry. I guess I wasn't paying attention." He looked up and immediately recognized the man gathering his paperwork as Lillian's doctor. "Dr. Caplan?"

"Oh, George, hello, I'm so sorry. I was hoping to see you. I heard about what happened."

"How?"

"The police said Lillian had an appointment card for my office on the passenger seat and they called in order to get information for her next of kin." He shook his head. "I can't believe I just saw her earlier today. She had been so hopeful and optimistic."

"Why? She was sick. What's optimistic about that?"

"You mean she didn't tell you?"

"Didn't tell me what?"

"Lillian said she was nervous about getting your hopes up again, but George, she came to me for a pregnancy test."

"What? She was expecting?"

"That's what she suspected. I actually just got the results from the lab a few minutes ago." He opened a folder and scanned for the information.

Lillian was…or at least she suspected she was finally…why hadn't she told him? "Wait a minute. Stop."

"What is it?"

"I don't want to know."

"What?"

"Dr. Caplan," George began, his voice breaking, "I just lost my wife. I don't think I could handle knowing I lost a child as well, so please- _please_, I'd rather not know."

He simply closed the folder and nodded. "I understand."

/

/

/

The time following Lillian's death was mostly a blur. To this day George couldn't say for certain what he did with himself during that time. He was locked in a heavy fog and no light shone bright enough to show him the way. If he wasn't at school he was locked away inside the house, deciding he'd rather not deal with people. He grew sick of the pitying looks and wished everyone else would move on with their lives the same way they advised him to. Every time he thought about drinking himself into oblivion he remembered that the driver who killed Lillian ran a red light because he had been drunk. Drinking seemed somehow disrespectful to the memory of his beloved wife.

The full scope of his loss didn't seem to hit until months later. It was about halfway through the spring and for the first time he took notice of her flowers.

/

/

/

George walked through the yard after bringing the garbage out to be picked up the following morning when he tripped over something and fell to the ground. He searched for the offending object and found Lillian's favorite cultivator. She had called it her go-to weed remover. As he looked around the backyard he saw weeds- dozens and dozens of weeds. The grass had overgrown to a ridiculous degree and gave the property the illusion of abandonment instead of what it was, land that had been carefully chosen by him and painstakingly cared for by her. Her flowers weren't faring much better. He suspected the only reason they were still barely alive was because it had been a rainy spring and Lillian had purposely chosen each flower's location by its ability to receive the proper amount of sun.

When he finally willed himself to look at her rose bush- the once crowning jewel of the yard- he broke down in tears. The leaves were more brown than green and dried petals lie scattered around it. The blooms that remained looked as though they would soon follow suit. It was as though he had failed her a second time. He couldn't keep her safe from the crash and now he had let her sanctuary fall into disarray.

George vowed to restore it to its former luster, not for himself, but for Lillian. The garden would be her legacy, her way to leave an imprint on the world.

/

/

/

Reclaiming the garden had given him a new purpose in life. He spent many hours learning how to care for plants and flowers off all kinds. He bought books, watched gardening programs on television, and took whatever classes he could find- whether they be from the botanical gardens or the community college. He was out there again interacting with people and making new friends.

He'd had to wait until the following season to see if all of his efforts had been for naught, but one by one the flowers greeted him come springtime. He had saved the majority. The ones that were lost were repurposed into mulch to help the others thrive. George nearly broke down again when he saw the first buds forming on Lillian's prized floribunda. He had done it.

And for many years George Feeny lived a rather simple life. He had his teaching, his books, and especially her garden. It was a quiet existence that he rather enjoyed most of the time. He had no idea that the arrival of new neighbors would change his life so completely…and make it notably less quiet.

/

/

/

"Morning, George."

He looked up and saw his neighbor from across the fence. "Good morning, Carl."

"Have you met the new neighbors yet?"

A new family had recently moved in on the other side of him- a young couple and their two small children. He hadn't had a chance to meet them, but saw people coming and going with boxes the entire weekend. "No, I haven't had the opportunity yet."

"Susie met them the other day."

Susan was Carl's wife. She was also the reigning queen of neighborhood gossip and had made it her personal mission to help him find a romantic partner. "Oh?"

"Yeah, she said they seem like good people. The husband is the produce manager of that new supermarket that just opened up by the mall and the wife had been working in real estate but right now she's staying home with their boys."

"That's nice."

"Sue said the older one is about four and is a little on the wild side."

He wasn't thrilled at the prospect of a loud, out of control child living next door. "And the younger one?"

"I don't think he's even two yet. All Sue could talk about was his mop of curly hair."

George nodded. Perhaps he'd stop by later in the week and introduce himself, maybe bring a plant as a housewarming gift.

"Well, I'm off to work. Have a good day, George."

"You, too."

As it turned out, he didn't have to seek the new neighbors. One of the little ones would come to him.

He had been in the kitchen preparing lunch when he heard a strange sound he was unable to place. At first he thought maybe it was a shutter he'd been meaning to fix or a branch that needed pruning hitting the side of the house, but he realized it was too quiet to be either of those things. He peered out his window and saw a little boy in his yard. He had a water pistol in hand and alternated between spraying Lillian's floribundas and shooting it into his own mouth for a drink. The purple splotches on his shirt and the slight staining around his mouth indicated that the gun was not filled with water. He turned off the stove and hurried outside. "Young man, what do you think you're doing?"

George certainly hadn't intended to scare him, but it appeared he had. The child spun around without taking his finger off of the trigger and the stream of purple went from being sprayed on the flowers to running down the front of his cream colored sweater vest.

"Oops."

"Oops? That is all you have to say? What is your name?"

"I'm Eric Matthews and I'm four years old," he recited. He held up his hand, revealing only three fingers at first, but quickly realized his mistake and put up his pinky as well.

"Okay, Mr. Matthews, care to explain to me why you were shooting what I can only guess is grape juice at my floribundas?"

"Are you talking English?"

George resisted the urge to sigh and tried to remind himself that the level of maturity and understanding in a four year old was much different than those in the eleven year olds he taught. "Why are you spraying grape juice at my flowers?"

"They were thirsty and I was sharin'."

"What made you think they were thirsty?"

"They look sad."

He looked to the rose bush and noted that, yes, it had seen better days. The weather had been unusually dry lately and despite his rigorous watering ritual his garden was showing the effects of the lack of rain. "That may be, but when flowers are thirsty they need water, not juice."

"But juice tastes better."

"True, but juice is for boys, not flowers. Where do you live?"

Eric pointed to the house across the fence. "Over there. Mommy is giving Cory lunch."

George looked to the house next door and indeed, through the window he saw there was a woman standing over a high chair.

"You see the windows up there, the ones by the tree?"

"Yes."

"That's my room and my daddy said we gonna make the tree a treehouse."

"You mean you are going to build a treehouse."

"That's what I said."

He lightly gripped the boy's shoulder and turned him around. "It's time for you to go home now, young man." He pushed Eric along across the yard and knocked on the back door. The woman inside rushed over when she saw him with her son. "I believe this belongs to you."

"Eric!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. "You were supposed to be in your room picking up your toys. How did you get outside?"

"The door."

"I am so sorry. We just moved in and are still getting situated and he must've slipped past me when I was distracted with the baby. Normally my husband would be here but he's in the navy reserves and he's away for the weekend so things are even crazier than normal." She held out her hand. "Amy Matthews and this is…"

George accepted the handshake. "Eric, yes, I know. We've met. I'm George Feeny." Eric laughed. "What is so funny?"

"Feeny is funny. Mommy, guess what? I shared my juice with the Floridas," he stated proudly.

"The what?"

"I believe he means my floribundas."

"Plants get water, honey, not juice." For the first time Amy noticed her neighbor's sweater. "And sweaters don't need juice. I'm sorry. We'll pay for your dry cleaning. Eric, did you apologize to Mr. Feeny?" He laughed again. "Eric?"

"I'm sorry, Feeny."

The little boy in the high chair began to whine and squirm.

"That's Cory. He's a crybaby."

"Eric!"

"But mommy he cries all the time."

"It's still not nice." She sighed. "I'm sorry again."

There was suddenly a splat heard throughout the room and George looked down, finding a big glob of oatmeal on his loafer. It seemed young Cory had purposely spilled the oatmeal from his spoon. Whether or not his shoe was the intended target was unclear.

"Uh-oh," the little voice chimed.

"Oh, my, Mr. Feeny, I'm so sorry. Cory is very into dropping things right now and his new favorite word is uh-oh. It's not a good combination." She grabbed a towel for his shoe.

It was obvious Mrs. Matthews was frazzled and overwhelmed at the moment. He certainly wasn't going to add more to her plate. "It's all right. I'll take care of it. Though, perhaps I should get out of here before I end up wearing any more of your children's lunch."

"Of course, I'm sorry again. And I promise I will keep the boys out of your hair."

"I would appreciate that." As he vacated the house and went back to his own, George silently hoped the Matthews family would choose private schools for their sons.

/

/

/

Obviously private school was not in the cards and over the years, despite initial attempts to resist it, the Matthews family did, in a way, become his family. They invited him to their holiday gatherings, were always ready to lend a hand with anything from supplying a needed cup of coffee to helping with home repairs, and he was happy to trade conversation across the fence. Things did become a little trickier once the boys were school-aged. It was difficult sometimes to establish where the teacher stopped and the neighbor began.

George ended up teaching both Eric and Cory at various points in their academic careers. Make that during _a lot_ of points in their academic careers. It was odd. Whenever it seemed like their relationships were about to go back to neighborly interactions across the fence they found themselves thrown back into each other's orbit. Usually it was a chance for career advancement on his end. Truth be told, though they acted like he was a big intrusion on their lives, he enjoyed it and he likes to think they did, too. As a teacher it was rare to be able to watch your students grow and change and reach their full potential as capable adults who can survive in the real world. Usually you just had them for a year or two and that was that. You wondered and hoped they turned out okay, but you could never be sure.

There were frustrations obviously. Eric was as bright a student as George had ever had, but could be so lazy it made one want to slam their head against a brick wall. Sometimes he put more effort into getting out of the work than it would've taken him had he just sat down and done his assignments in the first place. He often suspected most of the outrageous antics he pulled in college weren't caused by head trauma or bouts of insanity, but done purposely as a way to free himself from the pressures and expectations of others. After all, it was impossible to disappoint people if they expected nothing from you in the first place.

Cory could be a good student when he paid attention and worked for it. He was frequently distracted by various antics with Shawn, but could usually be counted on to pull it together when it mattered. Having Topanga by his side did help. She was such an over-achieving student and Cory knew she wouldn't settle for him just getting by. He strove to be better for her.

George was proud to think he had even the slightest influence on Cory, Topanga, Shawn- and yes, even Eric grew up eventually- becoming who they are today. He considers himself fortunate that he was able to help guide them at nearly every juncture whether it was as teacher, neighbor, or eventually friend.

And, ironically, if it weren't for them he never would've found love again.

He'd had relationships after Lillian passed, and they were all very nice women, but they were just missing something that kept them from being right for him. He'd even sustained a long distance relationship for nearly fifteen years with a woman named Elizabeth in Boston, but neither one of them could bring themselves to give up their lives for the other. He always wondered why that was, but it was Eric of all people who was able to make him see a very simple truth: as much as he and Elizabeth cared for each other they weren't truly in love. If they were in love they would've been willing to risk any and everything to be together.

Although he'd hoped to find love again, George had resigned himself to the fact that true love had perhaps passed him by. He'd had it for a while as a young man before it was ripped away without warning and assumed that was it for him. Then he met Lila.

He'd known of her, of course, he'd heard the stories from students about their entrance interviews with the impossible Dean Bolander from Pennbrook and wondered who could possibly intimidate so many cocky high school seniors. They hadn't actually met, however, until her class. Outwardly he blamed Eric and Cory for being the reasons he couldn't stay in Jackson Hole and enjoy retirement, but the real reason was he hadn't been ready to retire. And so he found himself in her class. He had incorrectly assumed that simply being in a classroom would be enough and that he didn't need to be standing at the helm and steering the ship. He couldn't have been more wrong.

For a long while he and Lila were simply colleagues, though they would get together for an occasional cup of coffee. He liked and respected her from the beginning. Her passion for her work and her desire to see nothing but the best from her students was something to be admired. She also wasn't afraid to tell him when she thought he was wrong or had overstepped his bounds. She didn't do it in a way that belittled him either. It was more of a challenge. She was similar to Lillian in that way.

Still, there were moments- a lingering look or a comment that seemed more than friendly- when George wondered if she liked him as well. Just when he had begun to work up enough nerve to ask her on a date her ex-husband came to town intent on winning her back. Curtis Kincaid was everything George Feeny wasn't. He was adventurous, took chances, and when he saw what he wanted he went for it without a moment's hesitation. George had been prepared to wait on the sidelines for Lila to sort things out with Curtis, but his students had other ideas. Thanks to their schemes and ensuing hijinks he was able to tell Lila how he felt.

In the years that have followed they, too, created a lovely life for themselves. They each gradually cut back on teaching and began to take trips they had individually promised themselves they would see one day. Lila had an interest in antiques and they would take day trips to various shops in the Northeast and mid-Atlantic regions. George wasn't as interested in finding the perfect sconce as she was, but he had been able to acquire a few first edition, signed by the author classics to add to his collection. That was a thrill. Any time he saw an antique gardening tool he thought about how much Lillian would've fawned over it.

Lila was very understanding and knew, even after all these years, that losing Lillian was still a sore subject for him. He didn't know if he would ever be able to talk about the day he lost her without choking up. When they decided to get married he worried she would feel uneasy about moving into the home he purchased with the intention of living out his days with someone else. Then she did something that completely surprised him.

/

/

/

"We've both agreed we want a small, simple ceremony without a lot of fuss, right, George?"

"Yes, the most important part is that we will be married."

She patted his hand. "I agree. I had an idea and if you're uncomfortable with it please just say so, but I thought it would be nice."

"What?"

"I was looking into various types of ceremonies and I really love the idea of a rose ceremony. The idea is that the couple exchange roses to symbolize the giving and receiving in marriage."

"That sounds lovely."

"I was thinking, and remember you can say no, that it might be nice to use two roses from Lillian's rose bush."

George suddenly found his vision blurry. "That sounds perfect."

/

/

/

As his eyes once again locked upon the bush he thought about all it had been through- harsh winters, dry summers, drought, his own carelessness- and yet it had survived all these years. He only hoped the new owners of the home would cherish it as much as he had grown to.

"I can't believe you're selling your house. It's not going to feel right coming to visit my parents and not seeing you working in your garden."

George looked up and saw Cory standing across the fence. "It's time, Mr. Matthews."

"How many times do we have to go over this? You can call me Cory."

"Sorry, Cory, old habits and all that."

He took a seat on the step leading to the small patio in his parents' yard. "How many conversations do you think we've had out here?"

"Oh, countless."

"If that rose bush could talk, huh?"

"Perhaps that is why it has thrived- all the conversations that have happened out here have encouraged it to grow."

"That's a nice thought. I'll miss our talks."

"We can still talk. I'm not moving far."

"It won't be the same."

"No, I suppose it won't."

"Feeny," a little voice could be heard shouting.

He shook his head. "Something tells me Eric and Georgia are here."

Cory laughed. "What was your first clue?"

"Feeny! Feeny, Feeny, Feeny," four year old Georgia Matthews exclaimed, choosing to jump her way into her grandparents yard with every shout. She waved at her uncle. "Hi, Uncle Cory."

"Hiya, munchkin. What's up?"

"The clouds, the sun, and the sky. And at night the moon and stars."

Georgia was newly four and he loved the way his niece still took everything so literally. "You're right."

"Feeny," the girl shouted again, hanging onto the fence as she jumped.

"Yes, Miss Georgia?"

"Hi," she said, dissolving into giggles.

George smiled. His namesake's energy and happy disposition were positively infectious. "Hello to you. Are you here alone?"

"No, silly. Daddy drive in the big car."

"You mean he _drove_ in the big car," he corrected.

"That's what I said. He drive the big car." She turned around. "Daddy!"

Eric came running up the walkway. "Georgia," he screeched, matching her pitch almost perfectly.

"Where you go?"

"We left the gift you made for Feeny in the car, remember? I just went to get it."

She held out her hands. "Paper."

"Paper, what?"

"Oh, right. Paper please."

He handed over the piece of construction paper. "Here you go."

She thanked her father before she held it up. "I draw my name and color you a picture."

George lifted the sheet of yellow paper from her little hands. "This is for me?"

"Uh-huh. Mommy helped me a little bit to get the circles looking good."

He looked over the picture and could tell it was supposed to be him in his backyard. "Wow, this is perfect, thank you. There are so many colorful flowers in here." He suspected she had used every crayon in the box.

"Gigi Lila is in there to."

He took a closer look, trying to find his wife, but couldn't tell what scribbled image was supposed to be her. "My...that's just..."

"It's a good picture of Lila in the house reading a book, right," Eric said, trying to help his mentor.

Upon closer inspection, he did see a purple figure in the window. "Oh, yes, I see her now. I'm sorry, my eyes are…"

"Old," he supplied.

"Experienced," George corrected before handing the picture back to the girl. "Why don't you take this inside and show Lila? I'm sure she will love it."

"Will you put it on the fridge?"

"Of course. Now go, I think Lila set aside a few cookies for a certain little girl."

"Me," Georgia asked, jumping up and down in excitement.

"Go find out." He held the door open for her.

"Georgia, save one for me, okay?"

"Okay, Uncle Cory."

"Save me two."

She giggled. "Daddy."

Once his daughter was in the house Eric turned to George. "What will it take to get you to stay here, huh? You want money? I'll pay you."

He smiled and patted the younger man's shoulder. "This is the right thing, Eric. The house is getting to be a bit much to maintain. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm not getting any younger." He'd resisted giving up the house for years, partly because he loved it so much and partly because it was a connection to Lillian. He hadn't wanted to leave her garden in the hands of strangers.

"But who am I going to see when I look out the window when I'm visiting mom and dad?"

"I'm sure the Bergers will suit you just fine." Eric only laughed. "What is so funny?"

"Their last name is Berger."

"Grow up." George saw Cory trying to hide his chuckles. "Not you, too?"

"Come on, Mr. Feeny, how is that not funny? Berger…what are we supposed to say if we see them grilling? 'Hey, Berger, how are the burgers?'"

"Oh, good one, Cor."

Sometimes it was difficult to believe that the two young men standing before him were husbands and fathers with their own responsibilities. They could still be just as immature as they were as children, especially when they were together. Still, despite the silliness George was proud to say he played a part, no matter how small, in how well they had turned out. "Are you two my packing crew for today?"

"Yeah, everyone else will be here tomorrow and Sunday when it's time to move furniture."

He nodded. "That will work. Just be sure you're the one who handles any breakables, Cory."

"What's that supposed to mean, Feeny?"

"It means I don't have an insurance policy for Eric-related accidents."

"We got it, Mr. Feeny. Should we get started?"

"Yes, there is a lot of work to do." He'd hardly done any packing because after that moving was going to be real. "You boys go on in. I'll be there in a minute."

He retrieved his book from the chair and moved to go inside, but turned around and walked to the bush. Just because moving was a sound and logical choice didn't mean it was an easy one to make. Saying good-bye to this house, to this yard, almost felt like saying good-bye to Lillian for good. He found the fullest flower and picked it, placing the bloom between the pages. Perhaps one memento wouldn't hurt.


End file.
